


England's Memories of America's Childhood

by LuluCalliope



Series: America's Most Recent Election [5]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: American Politics, American Revolution, Awesome Prussia (Hetalia), Chibi America (Hetalia), France Being France (Hetalia), Historical Hetalia, I'm Sorry, M/M, Poor England (Hetalia)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 10:54:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10410573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuluCalliope/pseuds/LuluCalliope
Summary: England remembers what it was like to claim custody of America and raise him as his brother.





	

England lifted the porcelain cup to his lips and sipped his tea. Oh, how he adored tea time. Tea time was, in his opinion, the most gentlemanly way of keeping time and taking time off from the rest of the world. But despite the refreshing taste of the liquid, the beauty of the porcelain set, and the tranquility of his home...he couldn’t relax. All because of that poor excuse for a world leader. Trump. England wrinkled his nose. He had accused Obama of wiretapping him...and using British intelligence to do so! England took a deep breath. “Relax, old chap,” he scolded himself. “Relax.” He repeated this mantra to himself until the anger was gone...and was replaced with sadness and nostalgia. “Oh, America. What happened to you? You were so cute when you were young.” He still remembered the day he had found out about the younger nation’s existence. It seemed like only yesterday...

* * *

_In 1638, Sweden and his “wife”, Finland, created “New Sweden” in the area that would become the State of Delaware. However, Sweden decided to pick a fight with the Dutch, which made the Netherlands come in and teach them both a lesson. Long story short, all of the nations abandoned the area, but one of them noticed something strange as he left..._

The beautiful sunny weather did nothing for Finland’s depression. He sat by the edge of a river, hugging his knees to his chest and bawling his eyes out. A lump the size of a watermelon had formed on his head. “Seriously, you guys, this isn’t funny anymore!” He wailed to the two figures who stood in the river. “It’s so mean and cruel and stupid!”

“Tell us what happened to you, Finland,” France coaxed.

“Did you get your head stuck in the butter churner again?” England asked in a tone that was twenty percent mocking and seventy percent concerned. (Ten percent was disinterest.)

“Nothing like that! It’s the Netherlands! I built a villa in the Americas with Mr. Sweden, but then stupid Netherlands beat us up and took our villa!”

“Wow, that is really embarrassing,” England said.

“Hey, look, I caught a fish with my hands!” France boasted, drawing attention to the squirming scaly creature in his hands. He and England weren’t really thinking about Finland’s problems, but rather:

_“This whole country will be mine, anyway.”_

“There’s something else that’s been bothering me,” Finland continued. “A mysterious little boy has been showing up from time to time. Nobody knows him from the villages and the neighboring towns are at least a day’s walk away. I’m afraid the Netherlands will find the boy and do something terrible to him! He’s a scary dude!”

“Huh, a little boy? Why would he be by himself all the way out here in the wilderness?” England wondered.

“That’s exactly my point! That’s why we thought the whole thing was kind of weird!”

“Hold on!” France gasped. He was so surprised by whatever had occurred to him that he dropped his catch. “Oh, crap, my fish,” he said as it swam away. “You say he came by you and Sweden, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right. He’s a cute little kid.”

“Do you think it could be possible that he is related to one of us?”

“Oh, I never considered that possibility!”

“A kid like that all alone in the new world?” England mused. “He might even be…”

“My little baby brother!” All three nations exclaimed at once.

France and England wrapped their hands around each other's’ throats. “There’s no way he’s your brother! He’s my brother for sure, Frenchie!” England declared.

“Your brother would have died of exposure or killed himself by now!” France shot back. Finland lingered in the background, making sounds that consisted of wailing and fearful laughter.

* * *

_And so, Finland showed the boy to France and England…_

When they found him, he was wandering through the bushes, searching for something to eat. “Hey, look, Finland, could that be the boy?” France inquired.

“Yeah, that’s him!”

“He looks like me! I told you he was family!” England smiled. “France, check it out, his hair looks exactly like mine does! There’s no way that’s not my brother!”

“In your dreams, Fancy Face! He has the obvious brow of a French royal; it is all the proof I need to claim him!” The little boy had noticed the newcomers and scurried into the bushes, hiding for the most part, but poking his curious face out from time to time.

“Hey, so which part of that kid looks like me?” Finland interrupted.

The other two became defensive. “Why are you suddenly so hung up on appearances? Our looks don’t define us!” England stammered.

“That’s right! Rather than being so focused on outward appearances, you should be probing the depths of this young boy’s heart!” France agreed.

“Uh…” Finland had no comment.

* * *

_England woke up early the next morning and returned to the place where he had first met the boy…_

When he arrived, the boy was waiting for him. He had a rabbit in his arms and a big smile on his face. “I’m so happy you came!”

“You’re not scared? I thought you’d run or hide like you did yesterday…” A gentle breeze made the blades of grass dance around the two figures.

The young one shook his head. “No, I’m okay. Lately I’ve been figuring a lot out about who I am.”

“Oh, that’s great. You know, I’m quite happy to see you, too.” The young one gazed at the tall nation with big, happy eyes. “Well, that just settles that for me, then! From this day on, you will be my brother!” England proclaimed.

The little boy nodded in agreement. “Then I guess I’ll call you ‘big brother’!”

England stiffened. The phrase “big brother” reminded him of one of his brothers...

_“You’re worthless, little brother! How does that feel?”_

...which reminded him of being bossed around, which reminded him of France…

_“Starting today, you’re my servant!”_

...which reminded him of the time he bossed Spain around…

_“You’re not moving in on my land!”_

...which reminded him of the strange, anonymous threats he would receive…

_“Excuse me, this is another curse from your older brother…”_

...which reminded him of magic, which reminded him of religion, which reminded him of…

_“If I want a new wife, I’ll have one! I just have to start a whole new church. Big deal.”_

...well, his name goes without saying, and you get the point. England shuddered at the phrase; it gave him flashbacks to terrible times…

“Well now, don’t be so formal. How about you call me Britain or England? What’s your name?”

“Oh...I’m America,” the young nation said, suddenly shy. England chuckled and tousled the boy’s hair.

* * *

_Unfortunately, France was livid…_

“America is MY little brother!” England declared for the thousandth time as he and his rival took a cart ride to their private fighting island (which was really a secluded piece of land with a good view of the ocean).

“Oh, oui, Britain is always with the joke-telling! America is MY brother!”

“The big shot in charge of my house, not to mention my church, says America is my little brother, so suck it!”

“Well, that’s interesting, considering the big shot at my house has been saying that America is my brother for like a hundred years!”

The cart ride stopped at a familiar house. The two entered and engaged in another fist fight in front of Prussia and Austria. “Fighting in my house is not allowed!” Austria shouted. This prompted England and France to leave...but they’d be back.

* * *

_“I just want to punch France in the balls.”_

_This was England’s philosophy during the War of Austrian Succession and the Seven Years War. He took the side of anyone who went against France just for the opportunity to punch his rival in the balls. This led to tensions between him and Austria, especially during the first battle of the War of Austrian Succession…_

“Ha ha ha ha ha! Big surprise! You are weak and I am not, loser!” Prussia taunted. The beaten Austria lay on the ground as the victor towered over him, cackling.

“You! Take your hands away!” Austria sniveled.

“The painter! Bring him to me,” Prussia ordered one of his lackeys. “We’ll have him capture Austria’s ass-whipped face for posterity!”

“Sir!” The lackey replied, like a true ass-kissing suck-up. Austria opened his mouth to tell Prussia not to get comfortable, because England would show up at any moment and save the day...but he noticed something from the corner of his eye. Prussia followed Austria’s gaze to...a note that had been stuck to a tree with an arrow. The note read:

_“I just want to kick France’s ass, so I won’t be taking sides. -England”_

Austria later wrote to England: _“Britain, in regards to how useless you are, I believe it has given me the right to talk shit about you behind your back.”_

* * *

_Well, England and France were concerned/obsessed over who would be the one to raise adorable little America. But one day, they noticed that America was terrified of the constant violence…_

“Fighting is getting us nowhere,” England pointed out. “We might as well let America decide who he wants to raise him.”

“That sounds good to me,” France agreed, “especially since it was part of my original plan from the start.” England forced a sweet smile on his face and spoke to the young nation with a tone that he thought was playful and soothing...but in reality it was creepy. (Britain had been through so much in such a short period of time, and his stressed appearance gave him this aura of doom...which America picked up on.)

“Come here, come over here, America...don’t you want to play with me forever and ever?”

America began to cry. “Stop it!” France whined. “You’re scaring him! You’re even freaking me out right now!” He snapped his fingers, which summoned a lackey to his side. The lackey carried offerings of France’s best cuisine. “Now, come here,” France coaxed. “This wonderful French food is waiting for you to shove into your chubby, screaming pie hole!” America stopped crying and examined the offerings. England mentally cursed.

 _“Son of a tart, why didn’t I think of that?”_ He turned to his own minions. “Hey, don’t you have something better to do than just stand around?!” All he got were mumbled, sheepish excuses in response. “Right. That’s what I figured. My assistants suck.”

America looked past the beautiful France and his exquisite cuisine and saw that England was sitting on the grass, his knees hugged to his chest, head bowed in shame. The aura of doom still hung around him, but America felt pity instead of fear. He walked past France and placed his tiny hand on Britain’s arm. “Um...are you okay?” He asked.

“Why does no one like me? Poo!” France lamented.

* * *

_And so, England and America started living together. In the beginning, life was good…_

“No way! Is it really okay for me to have it?!” This was the first thing America said after England presented him with a gift: a set of hand-made wooden toy soldiers.

“Of course it is,” Britain smiled. “I did make it special, just for you, America.”

“Oh, man! This is cool! Thanks, Mr. Britain, sir!”

England chuckled. After all the time they spent together, America still felt shy around his guardian and unsure of what to call him. “Take good care of it. After all, I nearly broke my hand while I was piecing them together,” he said, gesturing to his left arm, which was in a sling.

“Wow...I can’t believe I’ve got my very own toy soldiers!” America gasped. “You made all their faces different!”

England chuckled again and knelt down next to America. “I painted each individual figure separately,” he explained. He amused himself for an hour or two by playing with his young ward, forgetting about the rest of the world.

* * *

_But one day, England had to leave…_

“Hey, America, I’ll be leaving now, so you take care, alright?”

“What? Now?!” The young nation’s voice became laced with panic. He grabbed the front of his guardian’s coat and gazed up at his face with desperate eyes. “You can’t leave me all alone; I’m just a kid! It’s such a huge, scary place, and I’m so small and frail! Who will put me to sleep with all those boring stories?!” England smiled and knelt down so that he could look America in the eyes.

“Chin up. Those ‘boring stories’ are called ‘history’, and it’s time you made some of your own. I’ll be back, so you have to be strong and be a good country while I’m gone.”

America sniffled. “Okay…”

* * *

_When England returned…_

“America! I came back, just like I said I would!” Britain gasped. There was an imposter in his home! But the intruder seemed to know him, because he hurried to greet him.

“S’up, British dude?” Was that...America?! No, it couldn’t be! America had been just a little boy when England had left...a little boy with a timid demeanor and curiosity in his eyes. This young man towered over England by at least one centimeter, had an air of confidence about him, and seemed to know enough about the world around him to not be curious…

“But...you just...how did...you got big!” Britain stuttered. _“He grew up so fast!”_

* * *

_And then America began to disagree with his guardian on certain matters…_

“Hey, what’s with the suit? It looks expensive, too bad. I’ll never wear it.” This was the first thing America said after England presented him with a gift: a suit tailored to his exact measurements.

“You should. Dressing like a pauper isn’t in fashion anymore,” England replied, his tone curt. “I refuse to be seen with you if you’re not dressed properly.”

America’s eyes widened. “I think the way I dress is perfectly acceptable…” But he left England alone, then returned a short while later, dressed in the suit.

England smiled in approval. “See? Dressed like that, it’s hard to believe you’re the same person.”

“Sure...but this isn’t comfortable. I guess I’ll just wear it on special occasions, then…”

* * *

_But the bickering continued. Things got out of hand in 1775, but came to an emotional end in 1783..._

It was raining. The two forces stood facing each other, glaring at each other through the rain. “Hey, Britain! All I want is my FREEDOM!” America called out. “I’m no longer a child, nor your little brother! From now on, consider me independent!” He stopped to catch his breath and saw that England’s eyes were wet, and not from the rain. America’s words had hurt him more than any bullet could...but then England charged at America with his bayonet and stabbed America’s musket with the blade, disarming his rival. England stood, panting, the weapon now pointed at the space between America’s eyes.

“I won’t allow it!” He declared. “You idiot! Why can’t you follow anything through until the end?!” Soldiers from both sides readied their weapons and pointed them at the rival nation. America just stood and stared down at the blade. He remained motionless until England lowered the bayonet. “There’s no way I can shoot you. I can’t…” His weapon fell to the ground. England sunk to his knees and held a hand to his face, weeping. “Why? Damn it, why?! It’s not fair…”

“You know why,” America replied, his tone stern, yet gentle. As Britain continued to sniffle and sob, America shook his head. “What happened to you? You used to be great…”

* * *

England sighed. “Would things have been different if I had let him be? Would that have made things better? It’s too late now; I suppose we’ll never know.” His phone buzzed. “Who…?” He reached for the cellular device, slid and tapped an elegant finger across the screen, and read the message:

 _“Hey, it’s me. I just wanted to say that I’m really, really sorry for what he said. If I had known that he was going to say that, then I would have tried to stop him. I’ll talk to you soon.”_ Almost immediately after he had finished reading this text, England’s phone buzzed with another message. _“I still think you’re great, Britain, in terms of big brothers. You’re the best one I have.”_

England chuckled and sniffled. “I keep forgetting how mature he can be sometimes.” He tapped his fingers against the keyboard, typing his response:

_“Come see me soon, little brother. And leave your boss behind.”_

* * *

America smiled. “Maybe I will.” He glanced out the window of the stationary plane, examining the area he had arrived in. “Maybe I will…”

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this was long! I've wanted to write this for a while now, but I had trouble getting inspiration...and then Trump said that British spies were used to wiretap him. Hey, Trump! Please keep talking; you're giving me great ideas for stories! Regarding the future of this series: America will be visiting Switzerland soon, as well as Germany and Prussia. And he will pay England a visit, but it won't go the way the older nation thought it would...
> 
> Also, on a more serious note, my heart goes out to the families of the people who were attacked today in the London terrorist attacks. I hope you keep them in your thoughts, too.
> 
> (Writing Hetalia fan fiction helps me escape the terrors of the real world...)


End file.
